While We Can
by Rainbow.Fright
Summary: The night before the revolution, Enjolras finds Grantaire drinking alone. Slightly OOC, Enjolras/Grantaire.


The night before the revolution, Enjolras was too tense and too excited to sleep. He had been staying in a room above the tavern where he and his companions often met, and traveled downstairs to check their supply of gunpowder. It'd rained the previous night and although they'd been careful to store it somewhere safe and out of the way, it would only take a leak in the roof to spoil the lot and put them at a severe disadvantage. Many of the young men here seemed to think this was a game, but Enjolras know all too well that they were playing with fire here, and that death was a plausible and very likely option.

When he came down the stairs, he wasn't altogether surprised to see Grantaire sitting alone with a bottle of wine. He'd always been more partial to the alcohol than the rest of them. He needed sleep, though, and a hangover might get her killed once the bullets started flying. "Grantaire." He spoke just a bit lower than conversation volume, trying to get his friend's attention without waking anyone up.

Grantaire startled slightly and then turned to look at Enjolras, swaying slightly in his chair. "Yeah." He answered, words slurred. "What do you want?" He was clearly several steps past the normal level of inebriation that Enjolras was used to seeing.

"Whoa there." Enjolras said in surprise. "You should be in bed. A hangover won't do you any good." He was trying for gentleness as he approached the table where Grantaire sat.

"Who cares?" Grantaire muttered. "We're going to die anyway. Might as well do what we want while we can." It was clear from his tone and the look on his face that Grantaire was completely without hope. During the day he was as full of fire and fight as the rest of them, but alone in this tavern with his mask loosened and removed by his inebriation, he was just a boy. They were all only boys. Not heroes. Grantaire seemed to feel this more acutely than the others, his view not clouded with the fervor that the other boys seemed to have, and Enjolras rushed to reassure him.

"You listen to me, Grantaire. Even if we die tomorrow, it will not have been in vain. And the more of those pigs we manage to shoot down, the less time our brothers will have to wait until they can be free. We need to do this for them." He said, his voice low and earnest, covering his friend's hand with his own. The fingers were feverishly warm, and he held them gently in his hand which was steadied by his own self-assuredness. After a few moments, his words seemed to sink in and Grantaire's very slight trembling ceased. He met Enjolras's eyes and seemed to search his face, as if by doing so he could find and internalize the confidence that fueled his friend, and by extension, the whole revolution.

"I don't want to die." Grantaire finally admitted, softly, as if to avoid revealing that fact. As if Enjolras would be disgusted by his cowardice. If there was one thing this revolution didn't need, it was cowards. Enjolras had made that very clear when they'd begun.

"No one does." Was Enjolras's calm response. "But you're still here. And together, we can make this world a better place."

Grantaire sighed and averted his eyes. He didn't deserve his leader's confidence. He took another drink of his wine, extracting his hand from his friend's. He was fading fast, losing any and all motivation. He was terrified of what the morning would bring, and he would do whatever he had to to numb the dread and panic that curled in his stomach and shoulders like cold iron. He wouldn't give up on Enjolras and he would never leave him when he was needed, but he wasn't sure how he was going to handle this at all.

The pair sat in silence for a little while longer, Grantaire continuing to drown his terror in alcohol. Enjolras sighed and finally said "I really wish you'd stop drinking so much."

"Well," Grantaire spoke casually, with a biting undertone of sarcasm and pain. "We can't all be as put together as you are, now can we?"

"Gran—"

"No. Don't you even start." Grantaire spoke over him, raising his volume. His words still slurred, and when he slammed his hand down on the table he swayed dangerously, his eyes narrowed at his companions. "You think that just because you've never touched the wine and you can lead a revolution without losing your goddamned mind that everyone else can, but that's just not it, Enjolras. We can't all be so _special_." He stood them, trying to brace himself on the table but nearly falling. In his current state, balance wasn't exactly his friend.

"Hey now, easy." Enjolras stood and reached across the table to steady Grantaire by the elbow. He lowered Grantaire back into the chair, even as the black-haired young man glared and growled obscenities at him. He fell silent soon enough, staring angrily at nothing and refusing to meet Enjolras's eyes again.

Another silence.

"You know that's not what I meant." Enjolras said quietly, carefully watching his friend's face.

Grantaire glanced at him, eyeing him for a moment before uttering a sullen "I know."

He didn't apologize for his unfair outburst, and Enjolras didn't expect him to. "We need to get you to bed."

This time, Grantaire didn't protest. "Fine." He conceded, staggering to his feet. He was still dangerously unsteady, and his first attempt at a step was an awkward lurch that almost had him completely on the floor. He was saved from that fate by the arms and torso of his stronger and significantly more sober friend, who moved quickly to support him.

"Careful, Grantaire." He murmured, baffled as to how Grantaire had managed to get himself so completely wasted. Usually he was able to at least make it back in bed on his own. Enjolras knew Grantaire, and this only spoke to how scared of the future he really was. He helped his friend up the stairs and to his room, Grantaire leaning more of his weight on his guide. Enjolras was strong, but supporting Grantaire's dead weight was a challenge. They arrived at their destination, and Enjolras leaned his companion against the door while he opened it. Then, he led Grantaire inside, dumping him on the bed and pulling the stiff blankets over the useless lump of curly-haired revolutionary before him. He was starting to doze, the alcohol taking its effect on the exhausted young man, and he looked more peaceful in that he ever did awake. The pinched smile that was always plastered on his face by merriment and amused contempt of the men he knew he'd die with relaxed, all of the muscled without tension, a nearly childish innocence pressed there instead.

"Thanks, Enji." Grantaire mumbled, the affectionate nickname sliding off his tongue instinctively.

Enjolras smiled slightly in spite of himself, smoothing the black curls away from his face. Grantaire shifted and murmured, sounding a little more content.

"Any time, Grantaire." He said softly, fingers trailing lightly across his friend's cheek.

"You know," Grantaire mumbled, catching Enjolras's attention again. "It…it would be an honor to die by your side." He continued, hoping to convey his meaning. As cynical as he was, and as much as he knew they were going to fail, he stayed. He stared for Enjolras because he believed in him and would never leave him alone.

Enjolras seemed to understand, and hesitated before sitting lightly on the edge of the bed. Had it been anyone else, he would've tried to reassure them that they weren't actually going to die. But this was Grantaire. That would be futile and insulting. So instead, he shifed onto the bed next to his friend and wrapped an arm lightly around his torso, taking in the smell of alcohol and warmth that was uniquely Grantaire. If they were going to die tomorrow, they might as well do what they want while they could.


End file.
